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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772707">of phylacteries</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byzantines/pseuds/Byzantines'>Byzantines</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Divergence, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, PHYLACTERIES!!!!, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, phylacteries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:42:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,001</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772707</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byzantines/pseuds/Byzantines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>trevelyan has just gotten back from allying with the mages in redcliffe, and the commander wants to speak to her. it's not what she expects. </p><p>a series of short excerpts centring around mage trevelyan, cullen, and her phylactery. tags are for later chapters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the phylactery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i always thought the dialogue between a mage inquisitor (especially trevelyan) and a romanced cullen, specifically about their backgrounds, was lacking. the idea of the phylactery symbolising their relationship has always been fascinating to me! this is a story about two adults who have never been in an adult relationship before and are stumbling through it one day at a time. phylactery is sometimes optional.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Herald, could I have a word?”</p><p>Cullen’s voice cuts through the din of the council chamber, and it doesn’t sound exactly positive.</p><p>The question immediately renders Trevelyan almost paralysed. It’s not often one of the council members requests to speak to her alone in the war room, and it’s often not because of something good. Sometimes it’s a distant relative making threats. Sometimes it’s something to do with the Ostwick circle. Any words about them are usually the worst.</p><p>Leliana and Josephine both sidle out quietly, their eyes tired and their mouths hard. It had been a long, long evening, hashing out what they were going to do with their new mage allies and where they were going to put them. Josephine was worried (“But what about the apprentices?” she flapped), Leliana was secretly pleased, and Cassandra hadn’t agreed but had offered grudging support- and respect. Cullen, however, had radiated disapproval from the moment their party had gotten back to Haven with Grand Enchanter Fiona and the rebel mages in tow. The entire meeting he glowered, his scarred mouth permanently downturned.</p><p>She had tried not to look at his mouth and think about how it usually smiled at her.</p><p>Cullen was probably waiting to have it out with her. He had never mentioned her being from the Ostwick Circle directly before, and she had never directly mentioned him being Knight-Commander in Kirkwall to him. They had both danced around the issue, their silent misgivings peppering their every interaction, despite their otherwise easy smiles and stolen looks towards each other.</p><p>Trevelyan had no doubt he was furious about allying with the mages, and more importantly, furious with her. She shouldn’t be surprised. Or upset. They were who they were, even if he insisted he was a former Templar. And she a now apostate. She steals herself for the rebuke. For the impending argument. She could give as good as she got. But an argument never came.</p><p>Instead, he places an encircled crimson vial on the war table. It’s hanging on a chain and it seems almost delicate. Like a piece of unusual Rivaini jewellery. It takes her several beats to realise what it is.</p><p>“I… as the Commander, the majority of the mages come under my command in the army. I have spoken to Grand Enchanter Fiona, and we have agreed all phylacteries can be done with however each mage sees fit.”</p><p>Trevelyan had been staring at the vial in front of her the entire time she spoke, and gradually met Cullen’s gold-rimmed eyes with her own after he finished. They were almost the colour of the golden chain he had given her.</p><p>She didn’t know what to say, really, and didn’t know where exactly he was going with this.</p><p>Cullen shifts from one foot to the other nervously. “I wanted to give you your phylactery. It’s not my place to… keep it from you, and I’m not your commanding officer. If you would like me to destroy it, I will do it.”</p><p>“Oh.” Trevelyan manages to say. “This one… is mine?”.</p><p>She hadn’t seen it since the day she arrived at the Ostwick Circle over fifteen years ago. It was a beautiful object, almost like a large circular pendant, and it belied its true purpose. To track her. To keep her in line. Years ago, she would have smashed the thing there and then, watching her blood ooze into the stone floor, satisfied. Now, she doesn’t know what to do with it. The finality of the act terrifies her. With the phylactery gone, Enchanter Trevelyan would be no more, she would only be the Herald of Andraste. Isn’t that what she always wanted? To leave the Circle behind forever?</p><p>Realising she had been staring into nothing, Trevelyan looks back at Cullen, and he is evidently uncomfortable. <em>Old habits die hard, I guess. He’s probably screaming at himself for giving this to me.</em></p><p>“I would have thought you would have kept it.” Trevelyan eventually croaks, the accusation unsaid. <em>You would have wanted to keep an eye on me.</em> Her throat is dry.</p><p>Cullen merely blinks.</p><p>“I- No-”, he stammers, rubbing his hand behind his head, a habit he has when he’s nervous. And he’s nervous in front of her. Especially now. He always avoids talking about the Circles around her.</p><p>She waits for his reply.</p><p>“I am not part of the order anymore. I have my own opinions on phylacteries, but they have… no place in the Inquisition. I will liaise with Fiona about individual cases in the combat mage ranks. But this...is yours”. He breaths out the last words, as if relieved. “You should have it. The phylactery, I mean”.</p><p>Trevelyan picks up the phylactery and plays with the gold chain, idly, for a moment. It was rather beautiful. She has never held it before. She’s never been given the chance to. It was ironic, that a former Templar had given her the thing that had guaranteed her freedom, in a previous life. And now she didn’t know what to do with it. She toys with the vial for a while longer, not able to meet his gold eyes. The air feels heavy, and Trevelyan isn’t sure why.</p><p>“Commander, have you met Enchanter Ellendra?”, Trevelyan says slowly. Her eyes are fixed on the vial in her hands.</p><p>“I’ve spoken with her a few times, yes. She’s experienced in defensive spells. Why?”</p><p>Of course, he would refer to the Enchanter’s combat expertise.</p><p>“The reason we found her in the first place was that her phylactery was next to the body of a dead Templar”. Trevelyan raises her eyes to his face then, which is creased in confusion. The last sentence is barely a whisper. “With a letter to her.”</p><p>Trevelyan cannot tell whether the Commander knows where she is going with this, but he flattens his lips all the same as if he is steeling himself for something. His brows draw tightly across his face. He was quite handsome when he frowned.</p><p>“She trusted him. They were friends... And partners”.</p><p>The silence stretches for a beat. Several more.</p><p>Cullen’s eyes widen as understanding dawns on him. Trevelyan half thinks he may interrupt her with disapproving comments about a <em>massive violation of Chantry law</em> but instead, he says nothing. He does, however, take a step closer to her, his right hand fidgeting on his pommel.</p><p>This is the closest he’s ever been to her.</p><p>Trevelyan elects to ignore this new proximity and continues.</p><p>“Ellendra wanted him to have the phylactery. Whilst the fighting was going on. To find her.” She places the phylactery back on the table and gently pushes it forward towards him. “I… don’t know what I want to do with it just yet. But in the meantime, can you keep it? For me?”.</p><p>She holds her breath, waiting for his inevitable <em>no,</em> and hopes she hasn’t ruined their fragile camaraderie.</p><p>Instead, a deep blush floods his cheeks, colouring his pale skin bright petal pink.</p><p>Trevelyan exhales, relieved. </p><p>“You want me to keep this?” Cullen eventually replies, fingering the vial’s chain. His large hands dwarf the delicate chain. He averts his gaze from hers and his voice is very quiet.</p><p>“Yes. That is-”, Trevelyan bites her lip briefly and forces the rest of the words out. “That is if you want to keep it. For now”.</p><p>They are incredibly close now. If she wanted, she could reach out and touch his scarred lip. Would he want that?</p><p>Cullen takes a deep breath, and he gives her a tiny smile. The motion makes the scar bisecting his lip seem also wonky, and Trevelyan feels a tightness in her chest. This is the first smile he’s given her since she arrived back from Redcliffe.</p><p>“Then I will keep it then. For now. Until you want it back.” Cullen’s voice is low, and he gently clasps the phylactery in his calloused hand. As if it was the most precious thing in the world.</p><p>“Yes. For now”. Trevelyan smiles at him, her first real one in a while. Cullen grins lopsidedly back. She realises that he makes her smile- far more often than he should. Her chest feels lighter, somehow.</p><p>***</p><p>After the Herald leaves, Cullen hangs the fragile chain with its heavy vial around his neck.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. haven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>after trevelyan buys the inquisition time to flee the archdemon, cullen and cassandra use the herald's phylactery to find her.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>The snow of the Frostbacks fall in cloudy wet flurries and the sky is a muddied dark green. There are faint orange dots of light down in the valley- a trail of fires they left for the Herald. But they are slowly petering out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cassandra places a heavily gloved hand on Cullen’s shoulder. He’s been out here for hours, edging out into the flurries, hoping for a glimpse of the Herald.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Commander,” Cassandra says after he does not respond immediately. “You should go into the camp- it is no use just staring into the storm”. Her chin clenches, slightly. “The weather will not bend for you alone”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>made me Commander of these forces. It is my job to look for her”. Trevelyan’s phylactery feels heavy on his chest. He feels nothing from it that tells her she is nearby, just the weight of her blood and magic within the vials.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cassandra steps in front of him then, blocking his view into the faintly lit valley. She squares her shoulders and he knows she’s about to tell him off. Her brown eyes have sharpened into hard squints, and she stares him down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cullen,” her eyes bore into his, and it takes all of his own effort to not look away in embarrassment (or shame, it is hard to tell). “It is no use to us and the Herald if you exhaust yourself by insisting to look for her by yourself in…” she gestures behind her, to the falling snow. “All this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen pinches the bridge of his nose, something he only ever does when his headaches start. Or if he is stressed. The Herald left her phylactery </span>
  <em>
    <span>with him </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it was his responsibility to see her out of this mess alive. The vial hadn’t turned the tell-tale colour of black that meant its mage had died. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not yet, anyway,</span>
  </em>
  <span> said a small voice in his head. He willed himself to ignore it. Trevelyan was out there, somewhere, and she had trusted him to find her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had remembered Trevelyan’s face back in the chantry as she had nudged the phylactery, gently over the war table, towards him. Her eyes gleamed with- what? Apprehension? It was hard to tell, the candles in the war room were low and his memory fuzzy. He recalled his face growing hot as she stuttered out how she found Enchanter Ellendra, and that she wanted him to do the same for </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>as the dead templar had done for Ellendra. Cullen knew that before the Circles had fallen there were plenty of mages and templars, star-struck with each other, who had flouted the rules and fraternized. A part of him was still horrified at the thought, even if another small, deep part of him in the cavernous ruin of himself admitted that ten years ago, he would have done the same. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Is that what Trevelyan intended? What she was trying to tell him, through this gesture? Or did she simply want him to make sure she was safe? Even now it was hard to tell. Harder to admit to Cassandra he had entertained the thought, and that it was a tiny, tucked-away reason as to why he continued to stand craggily in front of the dip into the valley, like the ridiculous golem statue from home. At first, they had sidestepped each other, not quite revealing much about themselves (</span>
  <em>
    <span>mage </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>former templar </span>
  </em>
  <span>was enough) but… she had sought him out. It was like an intricate sparring match. She would lunge out, towards him, with teasing words and looks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had physically sparred as well, her nimbly dancing around him, staff in hand. Cullen had gotten the better of her a few times, with a shield bash to her stomach when she tried to get too clever with a particular formation. But he had long resigned himself to defeat when he watched her, enraptured with terror and a little bit of awe, as Trevelyan effortlessly spell cast around him during those matches, her fingers and feet quick and delicate being throwing an almighty force against him with a flick of her staff. How did she make him find </span>
  <em>
    <span>magic </span>
  </em>
  <span>almost beautiful?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Trevelyan had won their numerous tiny battles, then she had also won the war as well. He was standing in a snow-storm, his bones exhausted and his muscles lyrium starved, and yet he knew he couldn’t rest with the rest of the bedraggled remains of the Inquisition until he at least could catch a glimpse of her. A flash of green. A murmur from her phylactery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen realised Cassandra was still eyeing him warily as he slowly opened his eyes. No headaches just yet, but felt a faint pressure at the back of his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Herald is still alive. I cannot in good conscience abandon my post when I know she is somewhere down in that valley”. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And Maker forbid, not buried underneath all that snow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cassandra’s face softens ever so slightly, a look he has come to associate with her worrying about his health. Or pitying him. “It would be a miracle -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>another one ---</span>
  </em>
  <span> if she survived that avalanche, Commander. Perhaps you should rest. I will take--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Almost imperceptibly the vial resting beneath his armour began to hum, and Cullen, as if by reflex, pushed his friend aside to step further into the muddy flurries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s alive- Cassandra, we must push further into the valley. Get some men.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cassandra simply stared, aghast.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And how would you know that? I cannot see the light of her anchor anywhere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I…” Despite the cold, the tip of his nose flushed. “I have the Herald’s phylactery. She made a request that I keep it for an occasion such as this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The humming was getting stronger, now. And Cassandra was even more shocked. After he had found Trevelyan Cullen hoped very much that the world would swallow him up afterwards so Cassandra could not look at him anymore in the way she was doing so right now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She gave you her phylactery.” Her jaw was ever so slightly hanging open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. And it’s working, so please Seeker, if you could assist me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen had fished out the vial from under his breastplate and had started walking into the press of snow, hoping that Cassandra would </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop staring</span>
  </em>
  <span> and help him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was almost impossible to see through the veil of grey, but the vial hummed louder, like a faint whirring of bees, the further they trudged into the flurries. Cassandra had evidently stopped staring at one point, as he felt her presence near the right of his shoulder. They continued on together until the whirring sound pierced even through the high, whistling winds. But he saw no Herald. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Minutes later, a steady hand stopped him. Cassandra stood stock still and was looking away from him, her brown eyes widening in a way he had come to know as to when she had resolved to do something. Or was too stubborn to stop doing something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Commander, I think I see her-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>and this blighted thing is telling me she is nearby!” A desperate edge was creeping into his voice, and he hoped Cassandra wouldn’t notice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugh </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>- I mean, look up from that thing. I see a green light, just over there!”. Cassandra’s points into muted darkness and he squints for a second, before seeing a sputtering emerald light. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They run then, careering almost down a sharp hill in a bid to reach the Herald.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra shouts as the green sputters get closer, and it is she who sounds desperate now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The source of the light is, of course, Trevelyan. She’s knee-deep in snow and her hair is plastered to her bruised face. Cullen’s heart reaches his throat for just a second, believing her phylactery was somehow lying and that they were too late. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But no. He and Cassandra reach her and he catches her with his frosted, gauntleted hands just as she almost keels over, headfirst.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Easy now, we have you Herald.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you thank you thank you thank you-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trevelyan’s eyelids flutter slightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Commander, Seeker.” And then she goes boneless in his arms. Cullen struggles to get her up, the snow is deep and Trevelyan is heavier than she looks. Cassandra makes a frustrated noise at his slowness and grabs the Herald’s other arm, and they slowly carry her back to camp.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first time he touches Trevelyan she is asleep in her cot, hair matted to her face. In a silent prayer to the Maker, he takes her freezing hands in his, which are for once, ungloved. He does not know whether he is relieved for the Inquisition or himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stirs and her free hands go to rub her eyes, and Cullen drops her hand as if it burns. The Herald opens one eye. Another. Despite how pale and bruised she is, her mouth curves slightly seeing him at the side of her cot. He still has her phylactery, and it is warm on his breast.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Commander.” Her voice is a croak. “I take it, I survived then.” Ever the joker.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Cullen replies, and he feels himself meeting her smile, involuntarily. “Seeker Cassandra and I saw you plant your face into a mound of snow, and I thought you may have needed assistance.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trevelyan makes a sound that could almost be a laugh, but her voice is so hoarse it comes out like several wheezed breaths.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, that sometimes happens after you escape from an archdemon down a mine shaft.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It does indeed. I am… relieved you are in one piece, however, Herald.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Trevelyan, Commander.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His jaw clenches at the informality. Her closeness makes his heart pump so fast there is a roaring in his ears. Cullen doesn’t know whether the sound is his heart or the hum of her phylactery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Trevelyan.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trevelyan bites her lip, all traces of brevity gone. She hesitates. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you use it?” The humming gets louder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen retrieves the vial from where it rests on his chest, presenting it to her in the low light of the dawn. The dawn light reflects off the phylactery and into Trevelyan’s eyes and makes them look faintly orange, somehow. He doesn’t say anything and just simply presents it to her in hands as if he were cradling it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trevelyan reaches out with a weak hand, and he thinks it is to take the phylactery from him. Instead, she gently fingers a stray lock of blonde hair on his that had escaped during the night and pushes it behind his ear. The humming is so loud he can barely hear what she whispers to him next, cool hand resting on his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>cassandra when she realises cullen is holding trevelyan's phylactery: <span class="emoji-outer emoji-sizer"><span class="emoji-inner"></span></span><span class="emoji-outer emoji-sizer"><span class="emoji-inner"></span></span><span class="emoji-outer emoji-sizer"><span class="emoji-inner"></span></span></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. adamant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the commander is confronted with his past during the last hurrah at the herald's rest before the siege of adamant.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i am not a big amell/cullen person BUT the idea of them mirroring each other later in life is so delicious to me,, personally,,</p><p>i was originally going to have amell paired with leliana but a) thought that kind of puts a lot of stress on the tentative/teasing leliana and cullen friendship that develops over the course of inquisition (in my hc anyway) and b) despite it being cliche, i do like the idea of amell and cullen having a #type and eventually ending up with the much healthier iteration of what that type is (also i just love alistair/warden shit). </p><p>this is the conversation i'd always imagine an amell to have as an adult with cullen, in the fact that she doesn't grant him absolution but the crystallisation in helping him move on with his life.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Herald’s Rest was rammed from rafter to rafter, and the entirety of the Inquisition gathered around the long benches swilling ale and swapping stories. It was a celebration of sorts, before Adamant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or a commiseration</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Cullen gloomily thought, glancing over at Trevelyan. She had lost a bet to Hawke (Dorian had beat her at a fireball throwing contest) and was promptly downing a cask full of ale. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Chug! Chug! Chug!”. Sera was positively crooning, and despite his reservations and despite the fact he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>here in the tavern</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead of doing final checks on the trebuchets (“Come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on </span>
  </em>
  <span>Commander”, Leliana had smirked with a goblet of Tevinter red in her hand, leaning against his office door, “live a little!”) he couldn’t help but smile as Trevelyan blearily wiped away droplets of ale from her mouth, triumphant. And besides, if Leliana has deigned to leave her tower, he thought, the night wouldn’t be that bad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, Warden-Commander, what was Curly like as a teen?”. Varric says, over the din.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nearly spits out his ale.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leliana, who is sitting next to him, chuckles lightly. Cullen shoots her a murderous look and the redhead quickly starts coughing, instead. Cullen wonders briefly if thirty years old is too young to die because in that moment he very much wants to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amell, however, the recipient of the question, looks very much unfazed. She smiles somewhat primly at the (</span>
  <em>
    <span>nosy, too smart for his own good</span>
  </em>
  <span>) dwarf and then her eyes reach Cullens then, and her cheeks dimple. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There really isn’t much to say, Varric”. Cullen heaves a sigh of relief and Amell shrugs in apology at the dwarf. “Cullen was the templar version of me, we both were incredibly boring and played by the rules”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no”, Varric flaps a hand at her and Amell blinks at the movement, her brown eyes dilating underneath the warm candlelight. “No, I mean. You two. You were something I mean? Did he have a romantic streak as a teen? Did he use a pomade back then? I’m asking you because </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span>-” Varric has the graces to acknowledge his presence and gestures despairingly at him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>won’t tell me!”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen feels himself grow hot and Leliana stifles a giggle behind her hand. He swiftly kicks her shin underneath the bench. Amell looks between the three of them - himself, Varric, and the Spymaster - and her dimples deepen as her amusement grows. In reality, he was terrified of what she would say at this moment. Theirs had been an uneasy truce since she arrived at Skyhold. Trevelyan had towed her back alongside half of her inner circle, Hawke, and Warden Alistair, the entire party thoroughly wet and bedraggled after losing the Orlesian Grey Wardens hunting Alistair in Crestwood. At first, they merely acknowledged each other, the weight of who they once were resting too heavily between them. One day Amell had found him in the small chantry they had installed in the garden, and they had a brief if emotional conversation. Really, they barely knew each other. They weren’t nineteen years old anymore. But it mattered very much to him what the Warden-Commander would say at this moment, and it mattered that he hoped he had fully conveyed to Amell just how </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amell has the grace to swallow a laugh before earnestly turning to Varric. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Er-”, to his surprise, she blushes, slightly. “We weren’t a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not for lack of trying on my part, however”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen groans and slams his head on the bench and Leliana pats him on the back of the head. “There, there, Commander. Don’t be embarrassed. The Hero is very complimentary of you”. He can tell she’s enjoying this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amell clears her throat and continues. “The Commander, er, was very, um, </span>
  <em>
    <span>popular</span>
  </em>
  <span> amongst us apprentices. And he was always very nice to me. He didn’t use a pomade then, either”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen raises his head then and sees the Warden-Commander’s face has flushed a deep purple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And er, well, I had the impression that the Commander, may have fancied me a little since would always make sure I was undisturbed when I was in the library. So I, um, may have asked our dear Commander out after my harrowing but he ran away when I asked him”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen groaned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“HE RAN AWAY?”. Varric had jumped up in indignation then, sending foam and ale flying over the table. Leliana had lost all composure and guffawed in a distinctly unladylike way, and Amell sat opposite him, blushing still, but beaming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Curly…”. Varric had regained himself and swept a hand through his auburn hair, sighing. “Why are you no fun?”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He really did wish the ground would just swallow him up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Later, Cullen quietly takes himself to the battlements. It’s dark and the air is crisp, and there are faint wisps of snowflakes falling. Everyone had gotten progressively drunker and when Bull challenged him to a naked wrestling match he had politely declined, citing his beloved trebuchets. Hawke had booed quite loudly at that, and Trevelyan had looked put out but had bid him good night anyway, pressing her lips close to his ears and then promptly falling over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A headache was forming and his temples had begun to throb. The withdrawal symptoms always got worse at night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Leaving so early? Do you like those trebuchets so much more than us?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So intent on breathing evenly Cullen had barely noticed the Warden-Commander sidle up to him. The wisps caught onto her hair and melted into its brown waves. If this was even two years ago, he would be looking for an exit already, unnerved by her presence and by his reaction to her. But he simply carries on looking over into the Frostbacks, still concentrating on his breathing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I, er, came out to get some air”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can see that, there’s a lot of it out here”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An awkward silence bubbles and drags on for a moment. Maybe two. Both are unsure what to say to each other, alone like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, Cullen takes one deep breath and breaks the silence, intent on distracting himself from his throbbing temples.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for this. For Adamant, I mean. I can’t imagine going against your order is particularly easy for you”. He turns to Amell then, whose hair is full of flurries. Her mouth quirks to one side, as if assessing him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Those brown eyes miss nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to Adamant”. It’s Amell’s turn to pause then, and she looks out into the clouded mountain range. The sky is void of colour save the stars, and the clouds are a charcoal grey.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Morrigan… found me a lead about a possible cure. As in a cure to being a Grey Warden. The lead takes me far west, so I’ll be coming with the Inquisition as far as the Western Approach and I’ll continue on from there.” Her voice is neutral, but her hands grip the stones in front of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And what of Warden Alistair and Hawke?”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’ll both accompany your Inquisitor as planned. Alistair is the most senior Grey Warden in Ferelden after me, so you’ll need him. As for Hawke, well. I don’t claim to know my cousin’s mind, but I would say she feels a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tad</span>
  </em>
  <span> responsible for a lot of this mess”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amell turns to him then and her face is solemn and pale.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If Alistair survives this and this lead is real, this is our </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>chance at curing ourselves. Grey Wardens only have a 30-year life expectancy. I didn’t escape Kinloch Hold just to die in some blighted tunnel”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen cringes at the mention of the Ferelden Circle and silently prays that the Warden-Commander didn’t notice it. Her hands are still gripping the jutted out stones of the battlements, and they have gone quite white. He cards his hands through his dampened hair and tries to think of something to say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lost for words. Nothing has changed, then. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… It’s a shame that you won’t be with us during the charge but I wish you luck and success in your endeavour”. She smiles again at him like she used to -- full of gratitude he didn’t deserve -- and he softens his voice. “Shouldn’t you be spending the rest of the evening with Warden Alistair, then? I’d hate to keep you”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s Amell’s turn to be awkward now, and her voice is stilted in her reply. “Alistair, is, er, spending an evening with Kieran. He’s quite fond of the boy and wants to spend some quality time with him before we leave”. She coughs awkwardly. “Kieran gets lonely”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amell avoids his eyes, and he knows something is off. But she changes the subject quickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, we’ll have our time together on the road. Tonight I really just wanted to get Leliana out of her tower even if I couldn’t get Morrigan to come out with her”. The quirk of her mouth returns. “And besides, it was nice seeing the Inquisition at their cheeriest. Even if your Inquisitor was listening to us talk so intently her ears might as well have been the size of her head”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the chill of the wind surrounding them, Cullen felt himself becoming warm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-- I don’t know what you’re talking about. The Inquisitor was barely paying attention to us”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm? Really? Could have fooled me. She was very interested to know what you were like as a teen. She was practically perched on our table at one point. You didn’t notice it because your head was in your hands the entire time!”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maker. Please don’t tell me you said all of that just so you wouldn’t embarrass me further in front of her”, he replied, shivering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amell barked a laugh. “No. Of course not. I wasn’t saying it to make you look good, I said it because it’s the truth”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen felt very, very warm now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The truth?”. He had wanted to hold himself back ever since he had first clapped eyes on her worn blue uniform when she entered Skyhold on the heels of Trevelyan, but it all came tumbling out now. Maybe it was the ale. “The truth is that I was unforgivably awful to you when you were trying to help me, and for years I treated mages as lesser not just because of what had happened at the circle but because I was angry at the demons Uldred had summoned had used my feelings for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> as a means to get what they wanted out of me”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Cullen remembers being exhausted, and peering up, through the faint glow of his barrier and seeing Amell, Enchanter Wynne, and their companions, covered in blood demon guts. Leliana, who never mentioned their first meeting, was wearing a small frown, a look he came to know all too well. The Warden-Commander was alarmed, her face wan beneath the splatters of crimson, and that made him even angrier</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>somehow, that she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>worried </span>
  </em>
  <span>after being the face of his terrors for days and days--). </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels lighter, somehow, admitting it to her face, after all this time. Amell, however, merely blinks, taken wholly aback.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cullen, you were 19! I- I was never angry at the way you greeted me when I came to help the circle.” She frowns. “I was just sad that someone who was kind to me was different. I didn’t have many friends in the circle. Jowan just used me. No one wanted to associate with Irving’s pet, and I was too engrossed in my studies and making a good impression with the enchanters to really find the time to </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> friends. You just treated me normally”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But that's exactly the problem. I was a teenager and infatuated, even though I knew it was against the rules. And then later, I blamed mages and I blamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> for what happened and did the complete opposite. I have blood on my hands. I’m complicit in what the templars did in Kirkwall. It happened on my watch. I let it happen. Because of what happened.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amell shakes her head and small shards of snow fall from her hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You left the order. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>atoning</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I can’t grant you absolution from whatever crimes you did in Kirkwall, but the fact that you’re here and talking to me is proof enough. I fully expected you to avoid me like the blight when I arrived here”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t deserve your forgiveness”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not granting you it”. Amell’s reply is bordering on a snap and her brown eyes flash in the dark. “I’m telling you to move on. You’re the commander of one of the largest land forces in Thedas. You have people who care about you. There’s clearly one person who cares about you very much. You can’t atone if you keep wallowing on your past mistakes”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen sighs and nods. An acquiescence. “I take it you’re talking from experience, then?”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. You can’t be Warden-Commander and dwell on everything you wished you had done differently. Otherwise, you would never sleep, be paralysed by indecision, and fail the people you’re trying to serve”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At some point, his headache had abated, but Cullen had barely noticed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you”. He breathes. It’s more like an exhale. He grins then at Amell, which is probably for the first time in a decade. To his relief, she grins back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do not thank me”. She shrugs. “Besides, I think you should be happy. Leliana told me way too many worrying tales about you. And I think if you weren’t such a coward, I think you could be truly happy”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen blinks in surprise. “A coward about what?”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Trevelyan,” Amell says. “The Inquisitor. It’s quite sickening, actually. Haven’t you got her phylactery? It’s very sweet actually. Something agonisingly horny an ex circle mage and a templar would do”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maker --- how does Leliana --- you know what, nevermind”. Cullen blushes. Deeply. “She gave it to me for safekeeping. Couldn’t bring herself to destroy it. It helped me find her after the attack on Haven”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you still have it.” Amell didn’ phrase it as a question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I, er, yes. I still have it”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amell sniggers. “She’s probably waiting for you to destroy it for her. Circle mages love that stuff. Apprentices would go on about it all the time in Kinloch. Sometimes they’d wish it was you, actually.” She imitates a much higher voice than her own. “Templar Cullen would destroy my phylactery! He’s so honourable!”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen is positive his entire face is a beet red, and unlike in the tavern, he was nowhere to hide from her brown eyes boring into him, dancing with amusement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t hear anything about that”. He rubs his hand behind his head, embarrassed. “Anyway. All this teasing. What did you do with your phylactery? As Warden-Commander, I’m sure you have it in your possession now”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh”. Amell wrinkles her nose. “Well. I got Alistair to destroy it after I found it in Irving’s office when we came to help the circle. In all the chaos he forgot to send it off. I, er, </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> found the idea terribly romantic, and saw it as some kind of test for him because he was almost a templar. Leliana offered to shoot it with an arrow and Morrigan wanted to blow it up with an elemental charge, but Alistair took it into the woods and smashed it with his sword whilst I watched”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the one whose skin seeps into a petal pink, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess old habits die hard then” Cullen replies, and they both laugh. It’s easy and bright, and Cullen regrets avoiding the Warden-Commander until now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mages</span>
  </em>
  <span>”. Amell levels.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Templars</span>
  </em>
  <span>”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Touche Commander, touche”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’ve been outside for so long the flurries start to ease and they’re both shivering. Cullen steps away from the edge of the battlements but shoots Amell a wonky smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s very late. We should both be preparing for the journey ahead”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two of them walk down to the main courtyard. The Herald’s Rest is still aglow with an orange light, and faint music drifts out. The usual suspects (Sera, Dorian, Varric and Bull) were probably aiming at drinking until the early hours of the morning, Cullen thought. The rest of Skyhold, however, was quiet, except for a dim light emanating from Leliana’s rotunda. When they finally reach the doors to the great hall, Cullen turns to leave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Commander--”. Amell reaches out and touches his shoulder, forcing him to stop. He reels from the shock of her touching him but meets her eyes. Amell blearily blinks at him, as if trying to find some resolve.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please look after them. My family. Alistair, Leliana, Morrigan-- Kieran. They’re the only family I had for a very long time and I have just gotten all of them back. I would not want to lose them to your Inquisition”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cullen solemnly nods and trods away, leaving the Warden-Commander shivering outside the great hall’s doors. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>not pictured: varric flipping tables because he's so mad at cullen being such a square</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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